


Under the Quarter Moon

by jacklalonde



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Over the Garden Wall Fusion, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, no jean is not a bluebird when they.......
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacklalonde/pseuds/jacklalonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The short but twisted story of a bluebird boy, two lost siblings and a terrible beast who collide in an unknown woods.</p><p>(or, more simply: Jean is an asshole to a bluebird and has to deal with the consequences, while Marco has more important things to worry about than his little sister.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Quarter Moon

**Author's Note:**

> well, here it is- the jeanmarco otgw au only a few people wanted!!!!  
> I actually promised Lownly that I'd have this done a l o ng time ago, but then again I'm terrible and a long dry spell in my writing prevented it. But, even after all this time, I hope xe like it!!!! (And a belated birthday to you as well, Lownly, if it wasn't for you I might've never started writing again.)  
> ((also, I borrowed Marie for this AU. h o pe you don't mind))
> 
> For the sake of not wanting to write the exact same plot of otgw and for your sake of potential boredom, I took some (a lot) of liberties with the story. Most of the events take place from episode 3-5, following sort of the same storyline. But, this is a jeanmarco AU, so it's gonna be a little different in places. sorry about that.
> 
> here's a quick tw for blood towards the end- nothing too terrible, but just in case!
> 
> Happy holidays to everyone- enjoy this gay trash :)

They've been wandering aimlessly through the forest since the sun was high in the sky. Walking, only thinking that home should be just around that next bend, that at some point the trees should part and their neighborhood should appear like they never wandered. But they haven’t seen a home, or civilization, or anyone to ask for help, in hours. The thought finds them slowly, like the sun that’s made its way across the sky. They’re completely, without a doubt, dumbfoundedly lost.

Marco wipes a bead of sweat across his face and turns his eyes towards the tops of the trees above him, the sun filtering orange through the leaves. It’ll be dark soon. And they’re still lost. He can’t let Marie wander through the dark, even if he knows she wouldn't mind it all all. He still has a fraction of brotherly-duty left to her. But they haven’t reached any signs of sentient life other than themselves. They could be trapped out here for the night, if it comes down to it.

This is all Marie’s fault, even if she’ll never admit it to him. Marco hates that he can’t stop frowning whenever she turns towards him, grinning while she shows him the different animal-shaped leaves she’s found. _This one’s a bunny!_ She says proudly, bouncing it along the ground as Marco trudges. He hates that he’s angry with her, even in her state of constant giddiness and abandon, but he is. She single-handedly _ruined_ his chances with Armin. Well, that's not completely true. Marco probably ruined everything himself first, but she simply sealed the deal. The mix tape he’d made was more than a bad idea, and he knew that now. But the soft-spoken blonde boy will never talk to Marco again—ever. Especially not after he plays the tape Marco left in his jacket. Armin didn’t even know Marco _liked_ poetry, or played guitar, and now he’s going to listen to both of them on a mixtape of mistakes.

While Marco is stuck here, staring at the ground with disdain and wandering without purpose in the dimming twilight.

“Marco, I’m glad we’re here with Annabelle,” Marie says lightheartedly, holding her newfound pet frog around its stomach and twirling them both in a circle. She’s renamed the poor creature nine times now in the time it’s taken them to climb over a few logs and walk past countless trees; treading further into isolation and eventual darkness. “Aren’t you glad to be here with us, Annabelle?” The frog croaks in response, and Marie squeaks in surprise, looking back at Marco with one of two front tooth missing and hair sticking out in disarray from beneath the teapot on her head. _I’m an elephant_ , she’d said, pointing to the shining spout of the kettle when Marco asked her what she could possibly be dressed as for Halloween. _Ugh_ , Halloween…Armin…

There’s a part of Marco that feels doused out, crunching leaves beneath his feet. There’s a part of him that feels like they’ll never get home. He’s usually good at keeping his head high, keeping a smile for everyone else’s sake. But walking alone with Marie, he can’t seem to find it. He feels the water pour out over his soul, extinguishing what feels like all the hope he can muster.

There’s a part of him almost wishes they’d never find their way home, so he could just forget how stupid he feels.

 

“See anything up there, Marie?” Marco asks, pulling his cloak tighter around him and bracing himself against the sudden cold breeze. It’s almost completely dark and they've yet to find someplace to stay for the night. While Marco had been keeping his eyes on the dirt below him Marie had wandered up a hill in front of him, tripping over herself and the teapot strapped to her head falling to the side. Now that Marco can barely see her he strains to listen to her giggling to herself, running further, until she’s reached the top of the incline and Marco can’t see her at all. “Anything?” Marco calls. He pauses, waits for her answer. But there’s only the whispering of the wind, knocking his homemade cone hat off of Marco’s head with one strong gust.

"Oh, come on…” Marco mutters, another freezing breeze hitting him, as he bends down to pick it up from from the ground. He pulls the ridiculous hat back on his head, cursing his stupid costume choices and himself (he was so intent on pleasing Armin. He thought Armin would love this costume. How the hell did he think Armin would love it?!). And then he sees something above him and jerks his head up, instinct and the wind freezing his muscles.

Standing, still as the night where the trees get especially thick, is a figure. No, not a figure, a _shadow_ —pitch black where the dark meets its form, the overwhelming darkness flickering with the waving leaves around it. And, unmistakable in the diminishing light, two empty white eyes stare into Marco’s very being, his entire body tense and still as his cloak billows around him in the cold. The noise of the wind turns to a haunting song, fading in and out like the breeze, and as the figure starts to duck its head and creep towards him, Marco takes off up the hill.

"Marie!" He cries, voice getting caught in his throat and foot getting caught on a tree root. What _is_ that thing? That beastly shadow that lurks in this goddamn forest they can’t escape? Marco doesn’t dare look behind himself as he sprints up the incline. "Marie! _Run_!”

Forcing himself to move faster, Marco feels his breathing go ragged, rounding the top of the hill. He turns all around himself, the forest at the top identical to the one he had just ran from. The monster could be anywhere. Marie’s nowhere to be seen.

He starts to run again, ducking away from branches he can barely see, and it’s then when something smacks into his head and makes him slip on wet leaves and stumbles forward, gathering his bearings with both hands pressed into the ground and crouched on his knees.

"Ow, fuck." Says a voice, and Marco finally opens his eyes, mud seeping through the knees of his pants. Then, looking to his right and expecting to see the person next to him, apology waiting on his lips, there’s nothing but open air.

"What?" Marco asks himself. Someone had…something hit him…

"Down here," the voice says. Marco’s eyes fall to the grass below the voice. A bluebird is looking back at him, wide brown eyes staring accusingly up at him. If it’s possible for a bluebird to look extremely pissed off and poised to kill, Marco is witnessing it firsthand.

Marco moves his hand away from how dangerously close it is to the bird next to him. “Holy shit. Birds aren't…birds aren't supposed to…” he says, realizing and scrambling to rise to his feet. A bluebird, perched on the ground below him, is talking to him. There’s a shadow in the woods after him. His little sister is missing. Somehow, he can only find himself saying one thing to the tiny creature below him. “You’re talking. You can talk.”

"Wow, crazy right?" It says, deep voice sarcastically rising an octave. It shakes out its wings as Marco raises his hands in defense. This bird is going to fuck him up, somehow. Maybe peck his eyes out or tear out his hair or— _god_ , his head still hurts from where they collided. He can’t fight back against this thing when it attacks him while the world gently spins around him. When it does take to the air Marco raises his hands in his last effort of defense, but it simply hovers in front of Marco’s face.

“Isn't it just the _worst_ when you’re trying to run crazily through the forest like a lunatic and a bluebird hits your poor face…” Marco lowers his hands before he remembers why he was running. He remembers that the monster he saw could be anywhere, lurking around any corner. _It could have gotten Marie_. Marco starts to rush forward, looking over his shoulder to apologize.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to…there’s a…there’s a thing in the woods and it might have my sister…” he takes off running again then, panic kicking in, calling Marie’s name again.

“Woah, wait up. What sort of thing? A shadow? A figure? In the woods?”

Marco turns, still running, to look at the bluebird flying next to him.

“Yeah.”

" _Shit_.”

“Marco?” Marie’s voice comes from his other side, and Marco stops running, skidding on top of the leaves and struggling to regain his balance. There she is, clutching her frog with both hands and looking at him only slightly concerned. “Why are you running?” She asks.

”I…” Marco starts, trying to catch his breath, looking all around them. There’s no shadow, no monster.

“The Beast knows you’re here.” The bluebird says, voice even and flat as Marie’s eyes move from Marco to the wings gently flapping next to him.

Her mouth opens wide, wordless for only a moment. “Hello Mr. Bluebird! I didn’t know birds could talk around here. Can I hold you?!” She grins and squeals as she runs up close, reaching her hands towards him. Without a word the bird quickly moves out of the way, Marco’s hand pressing against Marie’s shoulder to keep her away.

“The 'Beast'?” Marco asks instead, Marie giggling and reaching despite his efforts. The bird ignores Marie’s grabbing fingers below him and looks at Marco like he’s still ready to peck out his eyes.

"He steals the souls of lost children who wander into the Unknown. Which is probably what happened to you guys, right? You got lost in the woods back there?”

"Yeah,” Marco breathes. Finally, someone who can _help_. But…how did this tiny bird know that? How is he talking? Birds aren’t supposed to have a mind advanced enough for speech, much less to communicate with humans. _What is this place_?

Marie answers before he can. “We’ve been walking through this place for _ages_! Wanna meet my frog Angelina?”

Again, the bluebird ignores Marie’s attempts. It looks almost like the bird is trying to make a decision, brown eyes narrowing and the small creature so close to Marco he’s gone slightly cross-eyed.

“Come with me.” With a slightly defeated sigh, it turns and flies through a lattice of twisted trees in front of them, leaving Marco’s eyes to follow in awe. Marco begins to follow in silence, Marie softly singing to herself as she walks behind him, voice rising into the trees. Marco continues to look around them every few seconds, waiting to see the figure with the glowing eyes watching them before it strikes in the night. But instead he only hears Marie’s tiny voice, shrill and unpleasant at points, as the bluebird leads them into a small clearing.

“Here. You can stay here for the night,” He tells them, as they approach a small house living among the weeds. Next to it, a willow tree whips in the sudden wind, and the sun finally dips completely below the horizon. The world seems to descend into total darkness as they walk up the creaking stairs, gray and splintered with age.

"Wow, thank you." Marco says, reaching for the knob of the front door. Loose on its hinges, it’s easy to turn and slip open. Marco peeks his head inside before he looks around. “No one lives here?”

“No. Not anymore.” The bird answers. Marco nods in approval, stepping inside. He’d rather trust a talking bird and enter an abandoned house than stay out there in the night, and with that Beast. A tiny, irritable animal might be talking to him right now, but this is a house to keep them out of the cold and away from whatever he saw earlier. He’ll force himself to be grateful, even if he has to sleep in here. As he tours around the small, dusty cottage, Marie talks to the bird still waiting in the doorway.

"What’s your name, Mr. Bird?” She asks.

”It’s Jean,” he says softly, almost annoyed.

"Hello, Jean! I’m Marie, and that’s my smelly brother Marco.”

“I’m not smelly, Marie!” Marco calls, knocking away small cobwebs from the corner of a small bedroom. _Jean the bluebird, huh?_

“Well tell your smelly brother to get some wood burning in that fireplace, I’m freezing.” Jean says loudly, ruffling his feathers to prove his point.

Marco tries not to glare when he comes back into the dark room, Marie slamming the front door shut behind them. The house settling into silence, the whipping wind still audible, the entire house creaks with its movement. Marco walks over to the fireplace and picks up the flint hanging up on a rusty nail, holding it tight. Then he closes his eyes for a moment and tries to remember how he’s supposed to set up this fire. They taught him this when he was a scout, right? _Shit_. The embarrassment runs hot in his cheeks when he winces at the memory. _Armin_ was part of his scout group. God, Marco will never stop thinking about how much he screwed up, will he? He’ll be old and gray and still be staring at walls, filled to the brim with contempt over his own stupidity.

“So are you gonna help us get out of here, Mr. Bluebird Jean?” Marie’s voice is light as she pulls a piece of candy out of her pocket—one of the last few remnants of the Halloween that feels like ages ago. Marco thinks he can see the wheels turning in Jean’s tiny blue head, as he flies and perches himself atop the shelf above the fireplace.

“First off, just call me Jean.”

"Okay, Mr. Bl— Jean." Marie corrects herself. Jean sighs before he locks eyes with Marco kneeling below him.

"And, well, actually I can.” Marco doesn't stop his mouth from dropping slightly open. He _can?_

Marie is already celebrating. “Hooray! We’re going home! So I can see mom and dad, and Marco can see Armin—”

“Marie!” Marco hisses, heart pounding. Hearing his name sets Marco off on the inside, makes this all too real. He really _did_ screw up. And now they’re stuck here. Why can’t Marie just learn to _keep quiet?_

But it’s too late; Jean has taken notice of the way Marco’s breath hitches. “Oh, I see. Got a special someone back home?”

“No, not really—barely. _No_. Well, yes?”

“Sounds like someones in love.” Jean says, tipping his small head to the side, but every word seeping slightly bitter.

“Pssh.” Marco rolls his eyes, before keeping them locked on the wood he’s begun to set up in the fireplace.

“Can bluebirds fall in love?” Marie asks, Marco finally getting the flint to start after a few shaky tries.

“Bluebirds can only feel hatred for any mortal being beside their godly selves,” he says, and Marco nearly snorts, the flames licking up the wood. Looking up, Jean the bluebird is smugly smiling down at him.

“So how are you getting us home, exactly?” Marco asks, squinting from the heat of the fire.

“My…my friend…Adelaide. The good woman of the woods. She’s into spells and stuff. She’ll get you guys home—”

“Lickety-split!” Marie finishes.

"Mhm." Jean goes to groom his feathers, Marco still looking up at him in slight suspicion. How is he supposed to know whether or not he can trust a tiny talking animal? Marco doesn't even know where he is, much less whether or not this _Adelaide_ will be able to help them. And here’s this little bird, whose sarcasm and bitter voice is setting Marco on edge—but he brought them to this house. And now he’s offering to take them home. All in one, overpowering wave, Marco’s exhaustion hits him nearly knocks him over. The heat from the fire radiating into him makes him want to close his eyes, makes him ache for his bed at home. It makes him believe in this tiny bird, its beady eyes staring down at him like he’s crazy.

Marco decides that even if it's not in his best judgement, he'll follow this bird wherever it takes him.

 

 

“Does the Beast really steal souls?” Marco whispers, long after Marie has fallen asleep. Jean had just finally stopped watching the line of trees, brow furrowed while Marco ate a few pieces of the Halloween candy Marie had strewed about their makeshift home. It was the fluttering of Jean’s wings as he landed next to Marco’s head that woke him up. Tired and convinced that he’s delirious, Marco asked the question while watching the flickering light of the fire reflect golden off of jean’s feathers.

“Yeah.”

”And he’s trying to steal ours?”

"…That’s right." Marco purses his lips, stares into the bird’s eyes. They’re too expressive, those eyes. They’re too big and brown and too capable of looking back at Marco like he knows exactly what’s going on in his head. It’s unsettling. But, even in his delirious state and the dull ache in his neck from lifting it from the floor, it’s comforting.

"I don’t…I don’t know how to react to that."

Jean tucks his wings and around himself and lies down. “Just stay away from the dark corners of the forest and you should be all right.” When he doesn’t lift his head again, Marco settles for staring up at the ceiling. He feels that empty feeling rise up in him again, the once-distant emotions swelling up again. Why does he really want to get home? His chances with Armin are ruined. Shattered. In it's coffin and on the way to the burial. Marco was never very promising anyway, in any sense, and neither were his chances of gaining Armin’s affection. So what's the point in it all? Why should he go home?

Jean’s voice is quiet, careful, before the room is silent again. “Hey, keep your spirits up, Marco, yeah? You’re headed to Adelaide, after all.”

Marco wraps his cloak around himself tighter, turns away from the small bird sitting next to him. _Keep your spirits up_.

Marco tries desperately to forget where he is. Or, more accurately, where he isn’t.

 

  
The next few days spent in the Unknown are blurred around the edges, but even then, the days take more than their share of time coming to a close as they travel through the woods. And through the days (with Jean attempting to lead the way), they come across places that, as they haunt him in the late hours, Marco would rather regard as part of an elaborate dream he can’t escape. They've seen it all—from skeletons disguised as pumpkin people to a schoolhouse full of barnyard animals. It’s enough to make Marco want to collapse, to accept the madness that must be trying to consume him. Marie is having the time of her life in this strange and winding place, but Marco has just found himself overwhelmingly _confused_. These things don’t exist. These things don’t happen in the real world. But then again, Marco’s only true companions on this journey are his teapot-wearing sister and a talking bluebird. The idea of possible madness lurks in the corner of his mind until he's simply forced to accept it.

In the midst of it all, Mr. Know-It-All Bluebird Jean has been constantly plucking all of Marco’s wrong chords. In Pottsfield—the town filled with pumpkins and the air of something much more sinister—Jean was simply passive about the way they were accused of being criminals by the town’s leader. He was passive about the way they could have _died_.

Not only that, but he’s been calling Marco names in his usual snark all this time, only to land on his shoulder moments later, pretending like Marco should be fine with those small feet digging into his shoulder. Marco doesn't hate him, but Marco is _tired_. And lonely. And hungry. (One meal from a creepy tavern isn't enough for him, apparently).

And Jean being there, though in short bursts he's good company, is simply just a burden for he and Marie.

 

They've paused in their hike so Marie can go chase her frog somewhere when Jean’s small feet cling to his shoulder once again. Marco can't ignore it. “Why do you even want to get to Adelaide’s?” Marco asks, kicking a rock beneath his toes. “Do you know her?”

“Um, not really. I don't really _know_ her. I’ve heard about her and all her magic. I just…need her help.”

Marco tries to stifle the genuine curiosity that comes in a sudden wave. “How come?”

Jean answers quickly, so quickly that Marco kicks another rock through the grass before he realizes. “I’m not really a bluebird, you know.”

Marco whips around so fast that Jean has to take to the air once again. “Then what are you?!” What's waiting for him, this time? A shape-shifting monster? Another _beast_ out to get him?

Jean looks back at him as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “I used to be human.”

"Really?" _Well_. "What…what happened?"

"It’s a dumb story and I don’t like talking about it."

Marco leans slightly forward, to which Jean flutters back, eyes narrow. If Jean gets to poke fun at the way Marco seems to trip over everything that they walk over, or the freckles covering his skin, he can have the liberty to poke fun at this. “So it’s a secret?”

Jean answers flatly, leaving Marco with no smile left on his lips and the chilly air heavy. “We’ve all got secrets, hm?”

 

 

Marco thought he was satisfied with the answer he got, but then the darkness comes steadily waltzing towards them, and Marco cannot let it go. When its completely black around them and Marco can’t see the way his eyes roll in annoyance, he asks Jean again.

"Well? What _is_ this deep and dark secret, Mr. Not-Bluebird?"

Jean turns to look at him, beak slightly parted in surprise. He sighs once, and Marco's glad Jean can't see the way he bites his lip at the idea of a real answer. “ _Fine_. But if I tell you a secret, you have to tell me one of yours.”

Marco barely hesitates. “Deal.”

He bunches up his feathery shoulders and takes in a breath, before it all comes out at once. "I threw a rock at a bluebird and it cursed me and my whole family to become bluebirds." Jean doesn't look away, come of the light from the quarter moon coming through the leaves at last to show a sliver of his expression. Marco feels like he has to be the one to look away first, as the bitterness in Jean's voice only gets thicker. " _Great, right?_ And now I’ve been trying to find someone who can help me turn them human again."

"Wow…" Marco tries, softly. Through the thin line of moonlight, Jean looks like he’s ready to move on.

"Your turn."

Marco takes a deep breath, bunches his fists. He has to say _something_ , doesn't he? There's nothing too terrible he's been hiding. Only— only the reason that they're here. The reason they got lost. The memory comes flowing out of his mouth before he allows himself. “I used to have a crush. On this guy.”

"…Okay."

Marco nods in the dark. "Yep."

"What else?"

"What do you mean what else?"

Jean rolls his eyes, moves out of the light completely. Marco settles for staring straight ahead and just listening. "There’s got to be more to you than _that_. There's got to be more to the story than only that! That’s your only secret? I’m a goddamn curse-victim of a bluebird and I eat maggots to survive. Come _on_ , Marco, there’s got to be something more to you."

Marco blinks a few times, wringing his hands in his lap, before he can rack up anything else to say. "I...have really bad allergies. And I...play the guitar! And I write really sappy poetry and keep a notebook full of it under my pillow."

Jean makes a noise almost like a giggle—unless that's his version of laughter? "Marco, that’s not even bad. Those aren't…wait, under your _pillow_? Really?"

 

 

They’re getting close to Adelaide’s pasture, according to the bluebird flying a few feet in front of them. It’s after the long sigh of relief at the thought of home when Marco realizes that Marie isn't behind him anymore. He should have known that things had gotten too quiet.

"Jean? Hold up. Where’s Marie?"

Jean circles back around before flying next to him. Marco's eyes scan the trees, but all he sees is an endless maze of golden brown leaves and twisted branches. "I…I don’t know. I’m sure she’ll turn up; she always does. Lets just keep going." Marco tears his eyes away from the forest to look up at him with disgust— _come on_. They can’t just _leave her_.

“Why are you in such a hurry, Jean? I know you wanna be human again, but this is _Marie_ we’re talking about…”

Jean nearly cuts him off. “We don’t have all day!”

Marco stops, looks around them one last time. The memory of the Beast, the cold pit in his stomach, begins to churn again. He could just go along with Jean, hope that Marie simply turns up eventually. He almost takes that step forward. But something pulls him back, something more than the idea of the Beast out there. “Jean. seriously. I need to find her.”

“And I need to get back to Ad—"

“Back?”

Marco turns towards him as Jean lands on the nearest tree branch, pressing a wing to his face as if trying to calm his nerves. His voice is almost shaking as he speaks. “I’m just trying to be a good fucking person, okay? Er, bluebird. I'm just trying to help you guys out.”

But Marco sets his shoulders before he looks at the bird as resolutely as he can.

“Well I’m not leaving without my sister.”

Even so, the chilled fear that Marco’s beginning to feel creep up his spine is not just for finding his sister. It’s the fear that he might end up in these woods with that Beast and the dark and the cold—alone.

 

When Marie does turn up again a few minutes later, wandering out of the forest and holding a handful of wilted, grey dandelions, Jean won’t speak to either of them. When they find the mansion of an old loon and get a few cents out of him for the ferry to Adelaide's, Jean is still bitter. Marco waits for it to eventually fade, and it does, after they’re forced to sneak on board the Frogland Ferry.

 

Marco leans his head around the corner, taking a good look around the side and wishing it disturbed him more than it does that there are nearly-human-sized frog people on board this ship with them. Marco just squeezed his eyes closed for a moment and turns back towards his group. “Just stay close to the side. Maybe they won’t notice we snuck on.”

Jean is quick to roll his eyes, puff up his chest. "Yeah, they won’t notice a kid in a cone hat, Little Miss Teapot, and a bird who is going to intentionally shit on their heads."

Marco rolls them right back. "First, gross. Second, they’re _frogs_. Can frogs even see well? Who am I kidding. Let’s just….try to blend in."

"Marco! Look at those lilies over there!" Marie’s almost falling off the side of the ferry, small arms reaching and the other holding her own frog tight.

Marco walks to the railing and leans his weight into it, exhausted even after the rough sleep he'd gotten on the forest floor the night before. “I see ‘em. They’re pretty.” Marco flickers his eyes to Marie, simply looking at her for the first time since they arrived in these strange woods. Her scrunched nose as she laughs. The large brown eyes that Marco knows are identical to his own. He simply watches, fondly, the wind gently whipping past them, the playing of a frog band in the distance. He closes his eyes without worry, lets the breeze blow the fringe beneath his hat back. Maybe getting lost here isn't so bad after all. They may be on a ship full of frogs and being guided to a mysterious women’s house by the aid of a bluebird, but it’s peaceful. He doesn't feel the crushing weight of Armin, or anything, on him in this moment. He can just float, effortlessly, like lilies on water.

When he opens his eyes again he realizes Jean is next to him, watching the moving water move past the edge of the ferry.

"This is actually nice." Marco murmurs. "A nice way to spend our last day together before we get to Adelaide’s."

"Sure is," Jean says slowly, small eyes still on the water. Marco waits for the sarcasm, or the vicious retort that'll have the tips of Marco's ears flushed pink. Instead, the bird sits, eyes focused on the waves below them.

Marco continues. "And soon enough you’ll be human again, and we’ll get home, all thanks to you!" It feels only right to say this now. If Marco waits another moment, Jean might turn away from him—might peck his eyes out. "Thank you for this, Jean." Marco says, and waits for the pecking to begin. But Jean doesn’t even look up. The frog band starts up another song on the other side of the boat.

"It’s. It’s no problem."

Marco squints. "Is there something wrong, Jean? You seem…uncharacteristically…calm.”

He shrugs his feathers, stretches his wings. “Nah, there’s nothing wrong. I’m fine. I just…I’m not—"

A sound of a sharp whistle jerks Marco's limbs back to life as he spins around, followed by a soft ‘oh, fuck’ from Jean. Two frog policemen, batons in hand, are chasing Marie across the deck of the boat towards them.

"I just wanted some of their fly snacks!" She cries, and after Marco grabs her hand, all of them take off together.

 

The ferry, of course, has nowhere to hide, so when they come across a supply closet Marco tugs on Marie’s collar and pulls her inside. They hear the frogs run past, whistles still blowing and Marco trying to catch his breath.

"Here, put this on," Jean tells him instantly, the tiny light hanging above them illuminating a huge marching-band's jacket.

"No way," Marco says, but it only takes the slap of a wing across his face to get him to oblige.

 

Somehow they've made their way on stage, with a crowd of frogs looking at them and Marie's head in a drum, and Marco has just accidentally knocked over the frog guitarist, sending him overboard with a distant splash.

And now it’s silent, and the frogs are waiting, and Jeans feet are anxiously stepping on Marcos shoulder as he anxiously whispers.

"You…you know how to play the guitar, Marco. Start playing!"

"What?! No, _no_. Nobody wants to hear me play, I promise. I’m, I’m not that great…"

"Come on Marco, _play_!" Marie whisper-shouts.

"Seriously, I’m no good at it." Jean immediately pecks at Marco’s neck until he yelps and walks with a frog on top of his head and a bird on his shoulder to pick up the guitar. His hands shake as he surveys the crowd. _It's just upper-class-people-frogs,_ he reminds himself. _It's okay_. After a few strums his heartbeat picks up, and he can’t breathe for a moment, the strings sharp against his fingers. But he’s done this so many times alone in his room, wishing for an audience but hidden behind a closed door, that even inside of an over-sized coat Marco enjoys himself. The melody somehow comes naturally to him, the rest of the frog band joining him one by one.

"There you go," Jean says, and Marco feels like Jean might be nuzzling into his neck as he plays. He finds comfort in his presence somehow, a small bird on his shoulder while his fingers strum so familiarly. Through a hole in the coat Marco watches as the frogs by the stage begin to dance, the sun sets behind the treeline, and the feeling of peace comes creeping up into him again. Marco relaxes into it, somehow, fingers steady over the strings.

 

At the end of the ferry ride, as the dimming light reflects off the river next to them, Marie has found a way to cover herself completely in mud before they can get on the path again.

"To Adelaide, to Adelaide…" She sings to herself, splashing through the mud.

"We'll never get to Adelaide's if you don't get out of that mud," Marco says, but he can't stop a giggle as his sister tries to take a step through the muck and falls on her face.

Jean, still perched on his shoulder, speaks up. "You…you might not want to see Adelaide right now. I’ve heard she’s…I heard she gets grumpy at night, maybe we should wait until morning. Yeah?"

Marco can sense the slight waver in his voice, but doesn't question it. Maybe Jean's just as tired as they are. Maybe he's not ready to face Adelaide, either. So Marco hesitates before he answers, “That’s…that’s fine.”

"That means that Abby can stay and play with her friends for a while!" Marie says, watching with wistful eyes as her pet frog, standing upright, ribbits in conversation to the fancily-dressed frogs around it on the shoreline.

 

Marie falls asleep next to Marco, covered in mud and arm reaching towards the small campfire they've built. Marco yawns as Jean curls up on top of a stump on the other side of the fire.

"Hey, Jean?"

"Yeah, cone boy?" Jean answers flatly.

Marco ignores it, even smiles. “What was your life like? Before you were a bird.”

"Um. I don’t know…I had a pretty big family. Lots of cousins. Things could get pretty wild." He pauses. "Do you have anyone besides Marie?"

"Any siblings?" Marco shakes his head, leaning against the log behind him. "No, just her. It’s weird, how she suddenly came into my life. My mom remarried, and suddenly she was…there. I don’t know, sometimes I still feel like it should still just be me." Marco pauses, wipes his hands across his face. "Ugh, that was a shitty thing to say." It’s quiet for a while, the noises of the night enough to fill the silence as Marco chastises himself. Jean eventually breaks him out of it.

"You did good, back there. With the guitar. Actually, throughout the past couple days. I mean, you’re sort of a hero now, right? The Beast is probably out there quivering in fear." Marco sighs, huffs a laugh while his stomach rises to his throat. He’d forgotten about the Beast.

"I’m not a _hero_ , Jean. I’m just…a 'pilgrim'. Isn’t that what the innkeeper said?" Marco remembers how proud he'd felt when everyone in the inn had agreed—and Marco felt important for a moment. Jean laughs.

"Yeah, a pilgrim. On his winding journey through the Unknown." Marco laughs with him, shifting his feet closer to the fire. Another silence follows, while Marco takes off his hat and shakes his hair out. When Jean asks him, he freezes. "So what _did_ happen with Armin?"

A flash of red-hot embarrassment hits him, curls up his spine like fire. “Why do you care?”

"Just making conversation, jeez."

Marco blinks. "Oh. Okay." He swallows, but Jean's waiting eyes are just a slight distraction from the memory that somehow comes easily to his mind. "Well, I made…a mix tape for him, thinking that I’d give it to him and he’d see that I like him…but." Armin had looked so innocently confused, so disappointed in him for a moment. "Do I really have to tell the story? I fucked up trying to talk to him, that’s what happened."

"Oh?" Jean challenges. Marco sighs.

"And then Eren Jaeger…he got to him before me."

"Eren Jaeger? Sounds like an asshole."

Marco snorts a laugh. “Not really.”

Marco is still giggling, probably out of madness, but Jean has gone eerily serious. "Do you…do you still want to go home? After all that happened?"

"I mean, yeah."

"You could always just stay here." It takes Marco back—he's entertained the idea to himself, but this almost seemed like an _offer_. His mouth opens and closes, but Marco doesn't answer. He tries to hide his bewildered expression, but Jean has undoubtedly seen the shock register on his face.

He hasn't refused, though. He might as well stay—at least here he's more than a nobody with the annoying little sister. Here he could be a _pilgrim,_ traveling through the Unknown. But it doesn't feel right.

"Well, goodnight, Marco." Jean says quickly, then, ruffles his feathers, and then ducks his head.

"Oh" He must have gone quiet. Jean must have taken back his offer. "Okay. Goodnight." Marco lays down, leans his face towards their campfire, and forces himself to close his eyes.

 

When Marco awakens to the flapping of wings, the stump across from him is empty and Jean is a tiny black dot in the night sky. ”Marie! Wake up! Jean…he flew away.” Marie blinks, looks around them deliriously.

"Why?"

Marco shakes his head to himself. _Why_ would he have left without telling them? "I don’t know. Come on."

"Wait, let me get Applepie!" She cries, running across the muddy ground to fetch her frog, who lies sleeping in the muck next to the frog ferry passengers. She looks down at it, sleeping peacefully, for a moment. Marco anxiously looks back towards the sky as Marie turns and runs back to Marco's side.

"She can sleep for a while." Marie says quietly. Marco sees the hurt in her eyes, but Jean’s silhouette is getting even farther away. Marie stays a few paces behind him as he walks, guilt drifting away like the leaves falling around them, eyes focused on the bird flying further into the night.

 

Walking through the plains and into the pasture, Marie tries to break Marco’s worried silence. The thoughts that had plagued him throughout their hike had been variations of the same thing; Why had Jean flown away from them? Where was he _going_?

“Do you think Adelaide is pretty?”

“Yeah, Marie. She's probably real pretty,” he mindlessly answers.

Following where Marco thinks he saw Jean fly towards the trees, they come up to the only cottage along a line of trees. They peer inside through a crack in the worn and grimy windows' curtains. Like Marco had guesses, Jean is there—in a room filled with strange, drawn out string—and it looks like he’s arguing, beak moving and eyes narrowed. There’s a woman in the massive bed against the wall. It takes only a moment for Marco to bite his tongue to keep from saying her name. Adelaide.

Marco pushes open the window slightly, the voice still muffled but obviously Jean's. 

“I can’t do this to them. They just want to get home!”

“You _do_ still want your body back, correct?" The other voice is shakier, gruff, unsettling. "Then our agreement was for you to find me two child servants and I give you the scissors," she picks up a small, golden pair of scissors that Jean's eyes follow closely, "…so you can snip away you and your family’s wings.” She grows almost larger than life as she bends close to Jean's face. “You want to be human? Then go fetch me those kids!”

"What the hell…" Marco whispers to himself. Jean was going to… _trade them_ for a pair of scissors? Before he can stop himself and rationalize Marco runs to the door and flings it open on its hinges.

It’s not easy to try to move past the look of horror on Jean's face as they barge inside. “Marco? Marie?” Jean asks in awe, eyes wide, taking to the air. Adelaide rises from her bed, old and wrinkled fingers twitching in anticipation.

"Ah, _finally_. You do not disappoint, Jean. These two will make perfect child servants." The strings lying in disarray around the room tighten around both Marie and Marco as she pulls a string next to her head. Jean cries out, and Marco’s hat flies off as he falls to the ground.

"Jean! You were going to trade us for your body back? This whole time? While we—"

He hops over to them, wings crazily trying to stop Marco's stream of flustered words. "I…it’s not like that…I didn’t mean…" Marco narrows his eyes, Jean flying desperately around the room. He betrayed them. He doesn't care about them at all. Jean is just as selfish as Marco thought, just as big a liar as Marco had convinced himself he'd never be. His vision goes fuzzy around the edges as the next events go by faster than he can think.

 

When Jean opens the window and Adelaide turns to dust from the poisonous night air, Marco manages to catch the scissors as they fall from her fingers. Scrambling and shaking from the vision of Adelaide's body falling into nothing, Marco grabs the golden scissors and cuts himself and Marie free from the strings that held them.

"Jean!" Marie yells, cupping her hand for the bird to hop into, all of them coughing on the old woman’s smoke, trying to escape. When it clears from the open door and Marco is coughing outside of the cottage, he turns and yells right at the bird sitting on the ground, hacking smoke out of his lungs.

"So _that’s_ what you were doing this whole time? Luring us into _this_? We both trusted you, Jean." Marco doesn’t care that he looks hurt. He grabs Marie’s hand and starts walking.

"You’re just gonna head out into the woods now, huh?" Jean calls. Marco tries not to turn around. "With the Beast looking for you?" Marco stops, fear striking into his core. He stares into the dark trees as Jean keeps talking. "I came here to try to break off the deal. I didn’t want that for you guys. Not anymore." Marie tears her grip from Marco and runs back to the cottage.

"We forgive you, Jean. We’re your friends!" Marco closes his eyes and sighs. He touches the tip of the scissors in his pocket, then turns back around towards Jean.

"Then we’re staying here for the night."

 

 

To stay in Adelaide’s house for a night is _weird,_ even if it’s better than the cold outside. The strange smell from the remains of the old hag almost ruins the warmth of the fire. Marco places the scissors on one of the dressers and his hat along side of it, before he trips over some string as he walks outside to gather more firewood. Marie offers to help, but he stops her. Maybe if they leave Jean alone again he'll fly off to orchestrate another plan to betray them. At least Marie can keep him captive in that cabin.

Jean tries to catch his attention as he walks out the door. Marco simply rolls his eyes.

 

"Here, Jean, lemme help you—” Marco catches Marie's voice coming from inside the cottage. He’s still trying to just keep busy outside, chopping some wood into smaller chunks to get his frustration out, small clouds of smoke leaving his lips, reminding him of Adelaide.

And then Marie says that, and Marco freezes, ax in hand. He gently puts it down and lifts his head from where he's been facing the ground, widening his eyes as he hears the snip of scissors. All at once, Marie giggles and there’s the sound of something crashing to the ground. “Woah,” comes a voice, before Marco is turning, moving, tearing open the door.

“Marie, what did you—” He stops dead in his tracks, then, white hot heat flowing straight to his cheeks.

The person now standing shakily to their feet in the corner of the cottage has two-toned hair, a sharp jawline, and a lean frame that’s completely bare. The thought process as Marco surveys the naked body several times is simple. That's Jean. _That's_ what Jean looks like. Jean is...scarily attractive. As Marco swallows, he proves his own point by finally catching the way Jean looks up at him—with something he can’t explain, something like his usual hostility but gentler. Marco moves his hand up to his mouth to cover his blush while Jean does the same to cover his junk. Marco had already seen.

“Could I maybe borrow your cloak,” Jean says, more a command than a question. And Marco nods, unclipping it without looking away. Those same golden-brown eyes watch him walk across the room, until he’s just an arms-length away. He’s so strangely beautiful, with smooth skin that's scarred in some places, muscle beneath those thin arms and a look that could kill.

“Here,” Marco breathes. Jean’s lips curl into almost a snarl as he takes it and wraps it around himself. Marco sneaks a peek at his dick again before the cloak hides it. Never on purpose—only reflex. He _wouldn't—_

Jean then makes a noise almost like a laugh, looking down at his feet, moving his toes around. It’s not until they catch him smiling to himself does he speak.

“Well, this is human me.”

“Jean!” Marie cries, running to hug his bare legs. She drops the scissors mid-step, and Marco makes sure to pick them up and tuck them in his pocket again. He won’t be letting Marie run around with scissors again any time soon. Even if the benefit of this time is the handsome boy standing in front of him. “You’re much more prettier than I thought you’d be.”

“What's that supposed to mean?!” 

 

 

Marco deliberately tucks Marie in as soon as they get the fire glowing brighter—it's been a long day for all of them, but Marie especially. At first she refuses to sleep without her frog, and she watches the pasture outside the window for any sign of it while Jean gets a real fire going. Eventually she silently gives up, and she sniffles until her eyes close and her breathing evens. Marco covers her in Adelaide's blankets and makes sure to check out the window too.

Marco ruffles his messy hair as he turns away from his sister, his arms still cold despite the fire without his cloak. But Jean is here, (though he's still wearing his cloak), and it’s all that matters to him at the moment. It keeps his insides warm, his stomach strangely fluttering.

“Hi,” Marco greets, sitting next to him. They’d found old shirts and pants in Adelaide's closet, as well as an old coat, but they still look loose and uncomfortable on Jean's frame and he said he'd rather keep Marco's cloak until he gets used to warmth without feathers. He's sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, his blonde fringe nearly glowing, trying to get the heat back into his hands. “How's it feel to have fingers again?” Marco asks. Jean huffs a laugh, spreading his fingers out in front of him.

“It feels good, I’m not gonna lie.” Marco smiles to him, Jean looking back out of the corner of his eye.

“How long did you know Adelaide?”

His shoulders tense, but he answers. “I found her after I ran away from home, after my family became bluebirds. She…she made me an offer. No more wings if I gave her a child.” He wrings his hands together again. "And then I saw you two in the woods, and I just thought..."

Marco nods. “I get why you did it.”

Jean's looking back at him now. “I didn't want to…not after I…”

“After you what? Started to care about actually getting us home?”

Jean tentatively nods once. It’s all Marco needs. Curled next to the fire, and next to a human Jean, it drifts into silence.

“Are you gonna head back to your family? Make things right?”

“I guess I have to." Jean sets his jaw, looking straight ahead, before he catches himself. "Once I find a way to get you guys home, of course.”

“You don't have to do that….”

“Yeah? And what are you two gonna do without me?” Jean leans towards him, challenge in his eyes, and Marco can't stop himself from smiling. 

“We’ll…find another town. Try to find someone who knows the way.”

"Please. Who else would be crazy enough to help you?" Marco leans right back.

"Oh, we'll manage." Jean's breath is hot, his lips ghosting scarily close to Marco's own.

“I can help you.” Jean breathes.

Marco pulls back. Stares at the fire. Tries to calm his pounding heart. “You have a family to get back to, remember? One that cares about you—"

“What, and yours doesn't?” Jean retorts, leaning back as well. Marco bites the inside of his cheek for a long time before answering. Suddenly the fire doesn't seem warm as much as burning against his bare skin.

“Well, I don't know. Sometimes I feel like they don’t.”

Jean mulls it over, and Marco watches him out of the corner of his eye. "Well sometimes your family is all you get." Marco looks at him. Jean runs those long fingers through his hair. "When we got turned into bluebirds, we had to leave our house, obviously. The house that I took you guys to—that was my old house, before all this shit happened."

"Really?" Marco feels a surge of guilt despite himself. How could he have known that small dusty cabin was Jean's _home_?

"Yeah. And making them leave there—that was one of the hardest parts. Knowing that it was my fault. That I didn't have to be an asshole to that bluebird, but I was." He finally lets himself breaths. "I have to prove to them...I have to show them that I'm not that boy anymore. Er—bird."

Marco doesn't know what to say. Jean clears his throat.

"What I'm trying to say is...you'll never be as bad at family relationships than me."

"Shit, Jean, that makes me feel great." Jean bumps him with his arm with half a smirk, but Marco knows it wasn't a joke.

Jean takes his time answering. They'd both suddenly become transfixed by the fire, transfixed by their own thoughts. “You know. You could always just. Stay. Like I said.”

“But Marie…”  Marco starts, but Jean stops him.

“Come on. Let's walk. I haven’t taken an actual walk in forever.”

Jean takes off Marco's cloak and pins it on him instead, Marco watching the simple concentration in Jean's eyes as he buttons it and smooths the fabric down his shoulders, trying not to smile too wide. Jean pulls on the jacket they found, swearing when it's way too big on him. Marco continues to try to bite back his smile.

And then they step into the cold air, Jean wearing Adelaide's boots and shivering.

“This is amazing.”

“Standing sure is something.” Marco jokes. Jean doesn’t seem to hear him.

“I have legs, I can run…”  Marco hears him mutter, and before he can say anything more Jean takes off towards the trees, jumping with every other step like he might just take off into the air again.

Marco laughs with him, pulls cold air in while he runs and climbs the nearest tree that Jean leads him to. The crooked, dark, branches of the edelwood trees don’t looks nearly as scary up here as on the ground. Though the distance of Marco to the forest floor is enough to terrify him.

“I'll only miss the flying.” Jean murmurs, smiling at Marco and shakily standing. He balances his feet on the tree branches, sticks both his arms out, and on instinct Marco reaches out to grab him and keep him steady.

“I bet.”

 

They climb down the tree eventually, before they continue walking through the pasture. Marco feels a stirring in his stomach, and suddenly Jean's hand finds his while they walk. They don't say anything, simply walking hand in hand for a while. It doesn’t feel that right to question it. Until Jean speaks again.

“Marco. I want you to stay here. You could stay with my family once they're human again. you could stay with me.”

"But—"

"They’d love you, I promise. You’re so kind to everyone and you could help my mother with dinner, and trust me…the littlest cousins would _love you_ , and we could all just—"

Marco stands there, speechless, as Jean looks desperately at him. Jean wants him to stay. He wants him to stay with him, in these woods.

"I can’t.” March answers.

But Jean kisses him anyway.

His lips are chapped from the cold and it’s messy after a few seconds, but Marco hasn't kissed anyone in god knows how long, so he truly didn't expect anything different. Jean is forceful, grabbing both sides of his face and simply taking as soon as Marco is willing to give. _Maybe he just really missed having lips,_ Marco thinks too clearly, as Jean's tongue brushes his and Marco feels his cheeks burn. He gives what he can while his stomach does backflips, Jean's proximity overwhelming.

When he remembers that his hands exist Marco moves them beneath Adelaide's jacket and then underneath her shirt on Jean's body and rubs with his thumbs, kissing Jean lightly. He's so _warm_. So _human_. 

“Let's…um. Let's go inside, yeah?” Jean's lips are swollen and shining when he asks and Marco doesn't know if that was supposed to be sexy or not, but he buries his head in the crook of Jean's neck and nods. Inside, warm by the fireplace, their mouths find each other again, and Marco is lighting himself on fire from the inside. Jean's hands are gentle despite their eagerness, and Marco finally gives up and pushes Jean over to kiss his neck, so _fucking angry_ at him for tricking them and so happy that he's a human that he can feel and touch and _kiss_.

When Marie stirs, they pause, Jean's hand wrapped around Marco's dick and Marco suddenly biting off a moan. Jean slowly raises a hand to Marco's mouth as he finishes him off, the other sighing, melting, bucking his hips as his eyes nearly roll back into his head.

Eventually they have to venture outside again so Marco can suck Jean off. No matter how many times Marco tells him to shut up and grip his cold hands into the blonde boy's thighs, Jean would just retort before moaning again. The way they end up giggling by the end of it, blowing their hot breath into the cold night in between kisses, Marco feels like he must have known this version of Jean for years.

And as they settle in for the night, Marco sheds his cloak and delicately sets the scissors on the dresser.

 

 

When the light returns to the sky Jean is gone and so are the golden scissors. Marco wakes up with a tiny smile on his lips, rolling over under Adelaide’s blanket next to the smoldering remains of the fire next to him. He moves to nuzzle against Jean’s neck—a good morning that he thinks he can get used to—but his nose hits nothing but chilly air. His eyes open, and he sees the empty space next to him. There are no shoes next to the door. Adelaide’s coat is gone.

"Marie," Marco says aloud, after screaming Jean’s name over and over in his head. He scrambles to his feet, looks to the dresser where he left the scissors. They’re gone. "Marie. Did Jean tell you where he was going?"

She turns over in her blankets as Marco stares blankly at the door. "No, I've been sleeping." Marco wipes a hand across his face, feels his spirits fall to the floor. He breathes heavily as he steps outside the cottage and looks around, but all he sees is a thin blanket of new-fallen snow. Jean left before it had fell. He must have left as soon as Marco fell asleep.

"Come on, Marie. Let’s go." Rushing back inside and buttoning his cloak, he angrily slams the door closed right as Marie makes it outside. Jean fooled them, again. He got what he wanted and left. All he said last night—it was just bullshit to tire Marco out. To make him put those scissors on the dresser.

Marco’s shoe hits something as he starts to get tunnel vision. Underneath the fallen snow, something hard taps his shoe. Marco kicks it, and something golden goes flying. Bending down to pick it up, Marco sees the scissors, the small bird engraved delicately along the side.

Either the bastard dropped them or he left them behind. Marco may still be able to feel the light bruises in his hips from last night, but he can erase the rest of the pain away within a minute, succumbing to the numbness that’s been waiting underneath.

It all crumbles too easily.

 

 

 _Keep your hopes up_ , Jean’s voice reminds Marco as he sits against a tree trunk, shivering. By the edge of the lake, Marie plays some sort of game with her pet frog, who somehow had wandered back to them. Funny that they can trust a frog more than someone Marco let leave a mark on his neck.

"Marco, check this out!" Marie is calling to him, red-nosed and pink-cheeked, but Marco can’t even smile anymore. It’s been a day, and he’s diminishing into nothingness.

_Am I anything but a falling leaf, waiting for the crunch of a boot to release me from the bitter cold of my heart?_

It’s the cheesiest thing he’s written to himself this whole damn time, but he repeats it to himself like a mantra anyway. He can’t seem to open his mouth to answer her. It’s so cold, and his hands are bunched in his pockets, but even then it’s barely enough. They've walked too far to go back to Adaleide’s—not that he'd want to, if Jean is anywhere near there.

Marco aches. The one person in this world he finally trusted, gone. He feels strange, stinging tears at the corner of his eyes that he pushes away for he benefit of feeling nothing. He doesn't know why he ever decided to trust that bird in the first place.

Marco is beginning to think they’ll never get home, not anymore. Not without Jean’s help. It makes him pull his legs towards himself tighter.

_Keep your hopes up, yeah?_

Yes, Jean, he’s lost hope.

All hope.

Marco closes his eyes. Let the Beast come. He wouldn't even care, at this point.

 

 

"Marco, come on. We've gotta go home!"

“I’m sleeping, Marie.”

It's quiet for a moment before she answers. "Oh, okay.” She tentatively lies down next to him, dropping a few leaves on top of Marco like it'll keep the cold out of him. “But if you’re sleeping, who will watch over Analina?”

Marco doesn't answer, instead curling in on himself, the cold settling into his skin. Who _cares_ about her frog? Who cares about anything at all?

"Don’t worry, Marco. I’m not gonna let you down like Jean did. I won’t let us down. In the morning, I’ll find us a way home. I’ll be a great leader.” Marco can hear her breathing settle and the slight warmth from her presence. And then there’s silence, and Marco lets himself fall into sleep.

 

Semi-conscious, limbs heavy with more weight than Marco thought possible, he distantly hears Marie’s voice. ”You keep sleeping, Marco. I’ll be back once I find a way home.” He's so _cold_ , and so _tired_ , and he can’t follow her. He listens to the crunch of her boots, walking away, when he hears another voice.

"Come along, child. We have much to do before we get you home, yes?" Even in his daze, Marco pieces the unknown voice together. When a haunting song begins, one that blends with the wind and chills Marco past the bone, Marco knows he's heard it before. The Beast.

  
He rushes to his feet while the world spins, brushes off some roots that had somehow wrapped themselves around his limbs, and runs after them. He makes it halfway across the clearing of a frozen pond, following their footsteps in the snow, before he slips on the pond’s ice underneath and smacks his head, the ringing in his ears loud and distracting as he tries to cry out to her. Marie, she went with him. He’s _alone_.

When Marco tries to stand, tries to regain his strength and take the first step towards his sister and the Beast, he feels the ice crack beneath him. The cold surrounds him and pulls him under, screaming bubbles towards the surface as his head goes underwater.

 

As air makes its way back into Marco’s lungs, the first thing he sees through his blurry vision is what looks like Jean’s face. Oh, how he wants to go back to sleep and _forget._

"Marco!" No, that’s definitely Jean’s voice. Marco’s eyes drift open, and Jean’s golden eyes are ringed with red, tears dripping off his nose and onto Marco’s cheek. "You’re alive?" He asks, voice breaking into a sob. He sucks in a breath when Marco’s eyes clear up, focus in on him. "You’re okay." He wraps his warm arms around Marco’s freezing body, and Marco melts, breathing a sigh of relief.

He shivers through his words. “Y-you…you _left_.”

Jean pulls Marco in tighter. "I know I did. I’m sorry." He lets go, his eyes wide and his words echoing far away. "Where’s Marie?" Marco is fading out again, darkness creeping in on the edge of his vision. He’s shivering, Jean’s hands gripping Marco’s soaking cloak until Marco can’t feel anything anymore.

 

\---

 

It was Halloween. Marco had convinced himself that trick-or-treating was no longer his thing, and instead had settled his eyes sternly upon the mix tape in his hands. He’d watched it spin in his tape player a thousand times, listening to the strum of guitar, the gentle poetry. He’d redone it. _Perfected_ it.

Armin was perfect. He deserved a perfect mix tape.

Putting on a costume mix-matched of anything he could find, Marco set the cape around his shoulders. He felt powerful like that; blushing cheeks covered in freckles and his hair sticking out from beneath his cone hat. At least he was disguised as powerful. Disguised as ready.

He opened his front door, his cloak billowing softly around him. He surveyed the neighborhood set before him, breathed deeply through his nose and gripped his mix tape tight.  _Into the Unknown_. 

 

The first people Marco saw when he arrived at his school’s football field were Sasha and Ymir, friends of both he and Armin—who never seemed to catch the hint to shut up about the two of them. Marco made a mental note to walk faster past them, maybe make it to the side entrance instead—

"Hey, Marco!" Ymir shouted, walking over from the stands on other side of the chain-link fence. Marco could already feel his blush returning, his automatic smile appearing. Ymir's costume was simply a plain gray t-shirt with bunny ears, while Sasha was dressed as an actual potato. Even if the inside joke was years old, she seemed perfectly content milking her role as the manic ‘potato girl’, apparently even during holidays.

"Here for your boy toy?" She'd asked with a laugh, beckoning with a finger to him to come to the other side of the fence.

"No," Marco said, laughing loudly and holding the tape behind his back. He doesn't step any closer to them. If they get anywhere near it, if they ever _listen to it_ , he'll never be able to live it down. Maybe if he can make a break towards that side entrance...

"Sure about that?" Sasha said, tipping her head slightly. "He’s right over there, but you better hurry if you wanna catch him."

As Marco cranes his neck to look where they were pointing, Marie’s voice came from behind him. "Marco, what’s this?" Marco gasped as he felt the tape leave his fingers. What was his _little sister_ doing here? "Music?" She turned it over in her small hands. "'For Armin'. Is this for Armin? Are you and Armin going to listen to music?" Ymir and Sasha walked closer as Marco scrambled to grab it from her. His fingers merely grazed it as it drops to the ground, Sasha bending down to pick it up. In the bright lights from the football field behind them, Marco could read his handwritten letters clearer than ever before. _'For Armin'_. He'd forgotten how to breathe.

"Oh my god, how _cute_! Now you really have to go give this to him."

"No, I _don't_ ," Marco assured her, before Marie spoke up again.

"Hi, Armin!" She called, and Marco looked up to see Armin's blonde hair fly past his shoulder as he turned to look at them. Marco nearly turned white.

He was standing in a group of people, who were all now looking at Marco as well. Armin smiled, waved him over. Marco simply ignored everything around him and walked to him, that rosy-cheeked, gentle angel-boy beckoning him across the field.

Marco walked up just as one of the taller boys was speaking, the others practically leaning towards him in interest. Armin was still smiling at him. "—hear about that kid from Sina who's still in a coma? He got in this wicked crash weeks ago but hasn't—hey, Marco!" Marco tore his eyes away from Armin and stopped walking, recognizing the tall boy as Reiner, from what, chemistry? English?

"You coming to Armin's party tonight, Marco?" Someone else had asked. His heart was beating so fast Marco wasn't even sure if he had heard them right, but Armin shrugged, smile widening.

"You're welcome to come."

"Everyone's gonna be there!" Another one of them called.

"Well, not _everyone_." Armin said, rolling his eyes, and Marco forced himself to laugh in between his nervous breakdown.

"I’d love to go," Marco said on instinct, still laughing.

"Great!" Armin said, and Marco nodded enthusiastically. "Well, I gotta go change into my costume for tonight." He was still looking at Marco, so Marco raised both his hands, feeling like he might pass out.

"Okay, it’s okay, go right ahead!"

"I'll see you guys soon!" Armin said to the people behind him, and the rest of the group bid him goodbye. "Bye, Marco." Armin said softly, and Marco felt like he moved in slow motion past him, hair flowing in the breeze and those ice-blue eyes freezing Marco to the spot. For what felt like forever, he forgot to move.

It didn't hit him until Armin was long gone that with what had happened in the last thirty seconds, he actually had to go to that party now. His smile fell and he rubbed a hand across his face, before a spike of panic hit.

Shit. _Where's his tape?_

 

When Marco fucked up for the third time that night in the graveyard, Marco realized that it was really, truly over. Sasha and Ymir had stuck the tape in Armin's jacket before Marco could stop them, and Marie had followed him to Armin's party. People had seen him show up to a party with his sister. He had followed Armin and his friends to a graveyard to make sure he still hadn't seen the tape. And then Eren Jaeger had reached for Armin's hand.

That was when a cop car's siren blared, and he'd grabbed Marie's hand and made a break for it. The car pursued them, and Marie wouldn't shut up about Marco's promise to go frog hunting with her, and Marco had forced her to climb up a tree and out of the cop's reach.

And moving from the top of the tree to on top of the tall, stone wall, Marco had seen them. Armin and Eren Jaeger, both looking down at a tape that Armin had pulled out of his jacket. They looked so confused, but Eren Jaeger suddenly smiled and reached for it. Marco didn't know what he said, but he knew that they were going to listen to that tape together, probably after making out on Armin's bed.

He was done for. Finished. He might as well jump over this garden wall.

So, Marie following, he did. He felt the wind in his lungs as he heaved and the sadness and shame in his heart. When Armin and Eren Jaeger sat down to play that mixtape, they were going to laugh and laugh and _laugh_. Who was he kidding?!Eren Jaeger always had more of a chance than Marco ever did. But they were going to listen to that tape. And the only reason they had the tape, was because of the little girl catching her breath next to him.

"You ruined it." Marco whined, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I could have maybe pulled through…but you _ruined_ it, Marie. He’s never going to talk to me again."

She looked up, Marco's jaw clenched and staring down at her. “I was just trying to help. Can we go frog hunting now?”

"No, we _can’t_. We’re going home." Marco started walking along the train tracks following the edge of the wall, and Marie had silently followed. It was just his luck that they heard a ribbit from inside one of the bushes next to them.

"Look, I found one!" Marie cried, reaching into the bush and pulling out a massive frog, Marco recoiling from it's beady gaze. Then he turned and stomped further down the tracks.

"Marie, can’t you just care about something _important_ for two—" It’s then when the train rounded the corner of the wall. The noise grew from nothing to a roar, and the whistle howled as Marco's heart leaped. And then they jumped, blinded by the train's bright light, and all was dark as they rolled down an endless hill and into the water.

Marco never have enough time to process the fact that he wasn't ready to die.

 

\--- 

 

Marco wakes up with what feels like water in his lungs, and with countless small, beady, bluebird eyes looking back at him. “Who are you?" Marco gasps, looking around himself. He's inside of a tree. Warm, surrounded by... _bluebirds_. "Do you...do you know Jean? He was a...he's a bluebird like you guys."

"Of course we know him. We're his family," One of them says.

Another, on the other side of Marco's head, speaks up. "We think he left you right outside our tree, along with that frog there." Marco looks to his left and sees Marie's frog—somehow the sight of that frog sleeping next to him gives him more relief than he ever thought.  "But he left."

"Why?" Marco asks, bewildered. Through the hole in the tree, the snow has piled up, a blizzard raging outside. Marco's heart rises to his throat. Jean had brought him here.

"He was always a strange one. Stubborn, too."

Marco keeps his eyes locked on the white, infinite storm a few feet away. "He wanted to turn you guys human." He says.

"Well, we’re waiting." One of them mutters, before they're shushed into silence.

Marco blinks himself out of it. He has to get out of here. "I...thank you...for helping me. But I have to go." 

Many of the birds start to flap their wings in annoyance as Marco tries to shimmy himself up the tree. "What?!"

Marco tells it to himself more than anyone. "My sister is out there. I have to go find her..."

"Well you'll do no good to her frozen dead on the ground." Marco continues to crawl up and out of the tree, scooping up Marie's sleeping frog into his arms along the way, a small smile on his lips as the cold hits him again. They’re just like Jean.

"I wasn't any good to her alive, either."

He seems to have shocked them into silence, because that's the way it stays as Marco begins to walk away. 

“If you see Jean again, give him a hug for us.” The voice is older than the others, slightly frail and more concerned than any of the others. He’s still walking away through the snow, his cloak pulled tightly around him. It almost pains him to turn around, to face them. Strange tears burn with the snow in his eyes.

"Okay, I will.”

 

 

The snow begins to fall faster, and Marco feels like he'll actually freeze every time the blizzard winds whip his cloak away from his hunched body. In the distance, Marco thinks he hears his name, though he brushes it off as the wind as soon as he pauses to listen. Until, through the white blanket in front of him, a figure emerges.

"Jean?" Marco breathes. He appears like a ghost, trudging through the snow. His nose is bright red, his teeth pulled back into a grimace. 

"Hey," Jean says, and Marco stops in his tracks. Jean pauses too, keeping a few feet between them as they both struggle to see through the snow.

"What are you doing out here?" Marco asks, loudly through the wind.

"I thought I was following Marie—I guess I got lost."

"You found her?!" Marco cries. _She could be just behind him, how could he have passed her..._

"I _saw_ her. She was...she was with the Beast."

Marco feels the fear grow, feels it all the way in his frozen fingertips. But Marie is out here, somewhere in the snow. So he forces a smile to his lips. "Well, thanks Jean. But I think I can find her myself."

Jean takes a single step forward. Marco's grip tightens around the scissors in his pocket. 

"I'm sorry I left."

"Why did you?"

"I was going to come back!" The answer comes too quickly, and Marco knows he's rehearsed that line to himself a thousand times.

Marco rolls his eyes. "You could have _told us_ you were leaving. You left me lying there alone. You knew I...liked you."

"I felt fucking guilty, okay?" His voice cracks, and it sounds so raw that Marco forgets to look away in contempt. "I kept thinking about what you said about Armin—and I never really asked if you liked me...I just _thought_ you did. I couldn't wake up next to you knowing that I just, how I just—"

"You thought I still liked Armin?! After the things I said. After I _literally_ sucked your dick." 

Jean wipes a hand across his face. Marco shakes his head to himself. It wasn't heartlessness, it was guilt. Marco nearly wants to laugh.

"I gotta go, Jean. Marie is somewhere out here."

“I’m not leaving you again.”

Marco stares at him. He wishes that he wouldn't think about taking a few steps forward and kissing those nearly-blue lips in front of him at a time like this. Shaking himself out of it, Marco lowers his shoulders and turns around. He forces himself to start walking through the snow.

"Then let’s go.”

 

 

The first thing they find as the snowstorm begins to calm is an especially shadowed clearing, where a lantern, dim and flickering, is lying in the snow.

Marco simply kicks it aside. Jean sucks in a breath. "Shit, don't do that. Where’s the woodsman?"

"Who?"

"He’s in charge of keeping the lantern lit. The lantern that keeps the Beast away." Marco bends down to pick the rusty lantern up, the light flickering brightly once again as he peers through the glass. 

The next thing they find, a few steps later in the darkening woods, is Marie's tiny body wrapped in tree roots, pinching her arms and keeping her upright. 

"Oh, Marie." Marco immediately chokes after the shock registers deep in his bones, falling to his knees. She’s pale, deep circles under her closed eyes. She looks broken. What would his mother think? _How could he let this happen?_ Marco feels the first real tear he's let fall, not for Armin or Jean or himself, but for his lost and broken little sister.

"Marie...Marie, are you awake?"

One of her eyes opens delicately, squinting at him through the lantern's light. Her voice is shaky, a whisper that barely reaches him.  

”I was trying to help us…get home. The queen of the clouds…she helped…”

She coughs, and Marco can't stop the snot that drips from his nose along with the streaming tears.

"Shh, Marie. It’s okay."

She sounds so honestly hurt when she murmurs, "I’m sorry, Marco.”

He can’t take this. He sets the lantern on the ground. 

“No, no, don’t be sorry. _I’m_ sorry, Marie. This is all my fault. Every bit of it. I never once thought to care about you.”

She simply tips her lips up, and Marcos heart fills with more than he can ever take. Marie then looks up again.

"Jean?"

"Hey, Marie. I'm so sorry I left you. I missed you both." Marco ignores the hand that Jean places on his shoulder. He holds Marie's cheek in his palm. 

"Let’s get you home."

"She can’t come home with you." The voice is gruff, deep and dark, and Marco Turns his head as fast as it takes him to suck in a horrified breath. the Beast. The shadow in the woods, waiting patiently for Jean to lay down and submit to his own despair. "Now give me that lantern.” The Beast extends a gnarled hand towards him, while behind him the woodsman comes hobbling out of the wood, nose bleeding. Even if Marco has never seen him in his life, the man's eyes plead with desperation as he extends a flesh hand towards Marco as well. They must have fought in the woods. The Beast must have hurt him.

"Why can't she come with us?" Jean asks, standing up and planing both feet on either side of Marco and Marie. 

The beasts eyes are empty, soulless. Blinding. His words make Marco feel like he's sinking slowly into the snow. "She has become part of the earth. It’s too late. She stays here, with me."

Jean takes a step forward, a command in his voice Marco has never seen before. He watches in awe as suddenly Jean becomes a match against the Beast. "No...you asshole! You can’t just _take_ her! She’s not ready, she can’t…it’s _your fault_ everyone around here fears the shadows. And it’s _your_ fault Marie is stuck here!"

Before Marco can even think of trying to stop him, Jean leaps forward and runs for the Beast, winding his fist back. The Beast easily dodges him, twisting along with the shadows of the night, but Jean pursues. He turns, jumping towards the Beast again. But the Beast seems to fall through the shadows, and Jean runs into a thick branch of one of the edelwood trees and slips on the snow. When he struggles to his knees again, Marco sees the thick trail of blood dripping from a deep cut down his forehead, before he falls back toward the ground.

He has barely a moment of panic for Jean before the Beast is towering over him. "Now, Marco Bodt. Shall we make a deal?"

"What?"

"You, Marco, can become the new lantern-bearer. I will keep Marie’s soul alive in this lantern, and as long as you keep it lit with the oil of the edelwoods, she will live on." Marco stares at the flickering lantern. He stares at Jean bleeding on the ground. He stares into the eyes of the Beast.

“No.”

" _What?_ "

"I’m not going to do that. That’d be the stupidest decision I've made this whole time."

Marco watches Jean rise to his feet.

”It’s your soul in there, isn't it?” Jean calls, wiping some of the blood across his cheek with the back of his hand. Marco looks down at the orange glow. _The Beast's soul_ , in his hands. “That’s why you can’t let the flame go out.” Jean says. Marco starts to lift it, to open the glass that protects the flame.

As soon as Marco takes a breath in and braces himself to blow out the tiny flicker, the Beast goes insane, twisting and shaking, every shred of light around them shrinking, until it's only the lantern shaking in Marco's hand. His heart pounds, the Beast rising up towards him. Jean is nowhere to be seen. Marco can feel nothing in his fingertips but everything at once as he thrusts the lantern towards the Beast, just to see what lies beneath those bright white eyes. As the Beast howls and cowers back, Marco processes the half-second glance he got in the glow—the gruesome truth of the beast, the contorted faces of souls that lost themselves in these woods. But then he shakes the vision away, moves past the quivering Beast and hands the woodsman his lantern.

"I’m sorry. I can’t worry about carrying that lantern around. I’m taking my sister home."

The woodsman nods, takes the lanterns from his hands. His eyes settle on the fire, until it's reflection glows in his irises. Marco has never met him, but he feels like he knows that the woodsman has waited a long time to look into the flame like that. 

"Her soul was never in here…" The woodsman begins to say as Marco goes to tear off the branches that hug his sister’s skin.

"Marie." Marco says, tearing the last of the branches off and holding her tight. The teapot she secured to her head so well starts to slip off, and Marco sits her back down and fixes it through a veil of tears. He loves this stupid tea kettle. He loves the small knots in Marie's hair, the twig that's sticking out from a particularly big one.

"Marco."

He picks her up from the ground, hands her the cold, nameless frog that he'd been carrying with him this whole time. He's never seen her eyes light up with so much innocent happiness. 

Marco looks up to the blonde boy, watching them. ”Come on, Jean. Come with us.”

He runs a hand on the back of his neck and shakes his head, keeping his gaze on the ground. ”My family. They’re still bluebirds. I can’t leave without the scissors.”

Marco stares Jean down, at his wide eyes and slightly parted lips, at the blood dripping down his face. And then he pulls the scissors  from his pocket and extends his hand.

Marco hears Jean inhale before he holds it for a long time. "You had them…you _found_ them?"

"In the woods, after you left. Learn to be more careful, Jean." Jean takes them carefully, holds them tightly in his hand, like he’ll never let go this time.

There's a sudden flicker of something in his eyes—something like fear. "Maybe they don't want to see me anymore. Maybe they hate me."

"That's not true. They're waiting for you. They told me." Jean looks up again, and Marco knows that it was him who left Marco and the frog outside of that tree. "Jean, sometimes your family is all you get."

Jean smiles.

"It's just something a little birdy once told me.”

"What sort of sick fucking joke is that supposed to be?" Jean rushes forward and hugs Marco the best he can, Marco hugging back with the arm that isn't holding his sister. "I fucking hate you for that." But he’s crying, and laughing, and Marco loves him.

Marco pulls back his tears, looking deeply into those golden eyes. "Well, goodbye."

“Can’t you both just stay?” Jean finally pleads, still crying.

“We can’t.”

But Jean won't settle for it. "Maybe after I…maybe after I turn them human again. I’ll find my way out of these woods."

Marco silently nods. The lump in his throat is painful, and all he wants to do is turn away from Jean and cry. He can't stand how desperately he's looking at him. So he quickly turns away.

"Hey, Marco?"

Marco looks back over his shoulder, trying to choke back tears. He tries not to think about Jean’s lips. Especially not at a time like this.

"I…I’m sorry."

No, Marco can’t think of anything but those lips. So he takes the few steps back and cups Jean’s face in his hands, kisses him softly and gently and with every promise of goodbye.

"I’ll see you soon," Jean says, forehead resting against his. Marco simply nods.

They walk away as hear the Beast pleading with the woodsman. Marco glances up at the quarter moon above them, before his eyes settle on the twisting darkness. 

Marco can only hear shadows of their conversation, but he can tell when the woodsman blows out the light. The world drops from underneath Marco’s feet. But he can still hear Jean’s voice.

"Bye, Marco.”

"Goodbye, Jean.”

 

 ---

 

Marco’s eyes open, and all he can see is the rippling of the top of the creek above him. He’s underwater. Looking around himself in the eerie quiet, he grabs what must be Marie next to him and swims. Heaving them to the surface, he sees people with flashlights rushing down the hill. He thinks he sees Armin’s floppy blonde hair silhouetted against the sky, but Marco can only barely notice through the struggle to breathe. “Help…” he croaks, coughing, before he blacks out.

He slips in and out of consciousness—flashes in the ambulance as he opens his eyes to check on Marie—but mostly he sleeps. Once, he thinks he sees Armin’s face looming above him, but he closes his eyes again. The cold has seeped all the way to his soul.

"Just stay here with me, Marco,” he hears Jean say from below him, fuzzy in the distance. He scrambles for a place of footing, but he doesn’t even know where he is. He calls out to Jean’s voice, but it’s gone, faded away, until there’s only silence. Marco feels the silence consume him too.

 

A few days later, Marco and Marie are finally admitted to leave the hospital. The water had been trapped inside if Marie's lungs more than himself, but Marco had hit his head on the way down the hill, then broke his leg. Marie’s pet frog had found a loving home in their house in the meantime, according to his mother, after Marie started crying when they took it away from her.

"Eren!" She’d cried out to it.

"I thought it was a girl?" Marco asked from his adjacent hospital bed.

"But I like the name Eren. Eren Jaeger. He was a boy who came to visit us." Marco simply had covered his eyes with an IV’d hand, trying not to laugh. The last few days he’d been in and out of consciousness, everything hurting and time standing still. his concussed head pulsed with bright light, he didn't like the loud noises of the visitors that came to his room. Eventually he settled for sitting in his hospital bed alone, growing more and more anxious by the hour. He doesn’t know why he feels so nervously excited—like he’s waiting for something.

But finally, they’re sent home. Maybe that’s just what he was anxiously awaiting.

 

Marie walks slightly faster than Marco can wheel himself out of the hospital doors. Marco winces as he presses down on the place where his IV used to be, looks up into a florescent light and accidentally gives himself a headache. Jeez, you almost die and suddenly everything hurts.

The hospital lobby is almost empty at the late hour, and their family's car has just pulled to the front to take them home. Marco knows he’ll have to face Armin at some point soon, once he returns to his life. He'll have to tell him that he was wrong—that he was desperate to find someone perfect to love when that's not what he needs anymore. That Armin shouldn't feel bad about pulling out the coils from that mix tape.

The place where Marco's hat would be feels empty, and he suddenly feels what he can only describe as a flash of remembrance. Marco knows that he and Marie were lost someplace when they jumped over that wall, but it feels mostly like a far-off dream to him. Though it was the best concussion-induced dream he's had in a while—fighting a massive Beast, falling for a boy…

A boy a lot like that.

Marco stops his wheelchair in the middle of the floor, every single memory snapping back into place when he sees Jean across the room. There are thick stitches across his skull, in the place where he hit the branch. But he’s here, in real life, in front of him, wearing an over-sized hoodie and bags under his golden eyes. 

Marco's voice sounds hoarse, but sure of himself. “Jean.”

The boy turns and scans the room, eyebrows drawing together, before they lock eyes.  Marco tries to watch for some sort of realization. Jean's eyes are glassy and red, like he's only just stopped crying, and Marco feels like he might just burst into tears himself. After a few moments, the boy shakes his head quickly, before setting his shoulders straight and looking at Marco head on. Marco can't help the massive smile that breaks out across his face as he turns from his waiting car outside and wheels himself towards the boy, The blonde boy mirroring his own smile and tears squeezing out of his eyes. Marco stands from his wheelchair, embraces the sting that comes with putting weight on his broken foot. An unknown feeling in his chest spikes when Jean finally speaks.

“Hey, Marco."

**Author's Note:**

> leave kudos/comments if you'd like??? my tumblr is jacklalonde if you wanna hmu. thanks so much for reading! :)


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